Midnight Abduction
by Ghostly Melody
Summary: Christine has been living happily with Raoul for over a year. But, when Erik changes his mind about letting them free, he finds her and abducts her. Stopped.
1. Prologue

Hello! I'm Ghostly Melody. This is my first PTO story, and I hope this turns out pretty good. This takes place a year after the opera house burns, and is 2004 based. If you don't want to imagine the characters as such, do whatever you want. It's just a heads-up. I hope I do good with this. The fanfiction, "Midnight Abduction", basically tells itself. Erik captures Christine from Raoul. Not sure where this will go, but bare with me. Please R&R! It would make me happy! 3

Erik's POV, set in third person perspective.

Prologue

In the dark night, a masked figure prowls the silent city streets of 1872 Paris.

There isn't a single soul about apart from the current. He raises his head to the moon, just a sliver in the ink sky. The only light. The gas-lamps were down for some peculiar reason. For what, he wasn't aware.

The man tightens his black mask. It is different from the one he usually wears: white covering only one part of his face, which was lost in the fire. He winces; the horrible, washed over memories surface. It has been a year, and yet he has found it hard to forget. It's mostly because of her.

Wound in those tragic, fateful events, she played an important role, though she forces herself to omit them, wiping them clear of her mind until they are brought back up for short periods of time. She'll lose it if someone compels her to for too long.

The former Opera Ghost grimaces, and flicks his cape, always a habit of his. Damn her! He thinks, bitterly, why can I not forget that woman? And he knows the reason. Love. Which he has learned to be a cruel, merciless emotion. The Phantom shakes, grinding his teeth in hopes to block it all out. He runs the tumbling question in his mind over and over. Gloved hands trembling, he puts them in a tight ball. A grown man of himself shouldn't behave as would an infant!

He flicks his cape again, and travels further down the cobblestone street. He would find her; he couldn't go on.

His hands and body cease their raking. Arms to the side of his torso, he advances. Now, where to find her..? Is she close, or far? The man clenches his jaw and stops to think.

He would ask a civilian tomorrow. They would know of the de Changy mansion's location,surely.

His plan in action, he furrows his eyebrows, sets his posture, and disperses into the gathering mist


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

This is Christine's POV

I busy myself, fingering the laces of my dress with nimble fingers. I am nervous. Extremely nervous. My body shakes, my limbs quivering with anticipation. What will happen? What if I mess up? What if I am not worthy?

I blink hard, and swallow to try to bring my solicitous level down. My hands find their way to my lap and fumble around. Why am I so anxious? I sigh and avert my eyes from Raoul's; he sits across from me, expression hard to read.

"You'll do fine.." He assures.

"Do I look alright? Is my dress fine?" I question, speaking of my casual sack-back gown. It's too simple; they will know.

"You look lovely, and there's nothing wrong with your gown."

I know his words are suppose to comfort, but instead I still fidget with worry. I give a small smile and bite my bottom lip.

Raoul reaches across the table to cover his hand on my own, "You've met my parents before at the wedding. I can assure you, Christine, there is nothing to-"

"But that was only once!" I protest. I blush slightly and turn away, knowing it was very unbecoming of me to rush out like that at a gentleman, "I'm sorry."

"No harm done."

I relax a bit, letting the tension that has gathered in my muscles out, but it travels to my stomach, and rests in the pit. I purse my lips and lay a hand on my stomach, prompting it to cease. No luck.

"Look- they're here."

At Raoul's voice, I look up.

A couple strides over, heads high and noses tilted. I swallow once more. When they enter the cafe area, it appears as if everyone is drawn to them

. Raoul's mother is wearing a day gown, but it is ornately decorated in silk, ribbons, and jewels , her soft, brown hair pulled back in a tight bun. His father wears a fine suit, obviously from material imported from another land.

I gaze downward at my common attire, which of course, isn't up to standards. As I turn my face upwards, I gap like a simpleton in absolute amazement at the fetching woman and man walking towards us, as if they are royalty.

In a way, they are.

This may be the second meeting, but everytime I see them I feel awestruck.

"Raoul." His mother addresses him fairly, chin tilted.

"Mother." He stands and kisses her hand, then lowers his body to take a seat. His father ignores his son and takes up his throne next to his perfect queen.

"How are you fairing?" I prod, attempting a conversation.

The "queen" replies for the "king",

"Horrible, if you should know. I've come down with a cold I can't possibly seem to shake, and my husband is suffering severe from arthritis in his digits and hands."

"I'm..terribly sorry to hear it. I hope your cold leaves soon." The spiteful woman sniffs and turns away, and I don't think it's because of her sickness. I'd very much like to show her how I really feel. Maybe a nice punch to the jaw.

We sit in awkward, unbearable silence for what seems like hours, but in reality are only a few mere minutes.

Raoul finally speaks, "Oh, look at the time. I'm terribly sorry, but we must be going." Raoul grabs my elbow and leads me away, steering us far from the cafe where his parents are positioned, dumbfounded.

I am near tears, "they hate me, Raoul!"

"Be quiet; they can still hear you!" He mutters, and leads the way to the waiting carriage. The horse stomps impatiently, nostrils flaring. It is nerved-racked, just like myself.

"I know how you feel.." I grumble as I'm assisted into the seats. I take up a spot near the right window, and stare out at the world beyond. If I wasn't the Vicomtess, there could be a possibility for me to live a..normal life.

I breathe in sharply through my mouth, and exhale slowly with my nose. We're heading through the slums now.

The carriage stops. There are children in the streets, harassing the horse. Raoul looks up, shouts at them. This will take awhile.

I divert myself from the ongoing scene and watch a small girl in a pinafore who's sitting in front of a decrepit house, her coppery hair pulled back in two loose braids. She plays in the dirt with a raggedy doll, tossing the worn thing around. A young boy, maybe of the age of ten, runs up behind her and snatches the plaything away, snickering.

The girl sobs, "Thomas! Bring it back!"

Thomas doesn't listen. Laughing hard, he stands over her and she stumbles towards him, her gait lopsided, her progression not the smoothest. I notice something about her then: her right leg appears to be twisted, at an odd angle.

My heart bends. She has a disfigurement. The poor thing..I think. Then it hits me.

Who else do I know has a..deformity? The Phantom. He's dead. The mob got a hold of him, surely.

I blink back approaching tears and swallow roughly, drawing my attention back to the girl and boy.

"Try to catch it, Madeline!" he teases, dangling it over her head. She jumps, arms outstretched. It's painful for her, I can see it. And it's painful for me to experience. Thomas rips the head from the torso, detaching it and flinging it away into some unknown place. Madeline weeps, crouched over the remainder of her former doll.

There's nothing I can do. I can't risk soiling my reputation, as Raoul always reminds me. Bitterness swells up inside my chest, taking hold and seizing my emotions, until I'm drowning in an endless wave of fear and disappointment; doubt and pain.

I turn away, feeling a single tear slide down my face.

I sit alone in my private room that night, running the recent, horrific events through my mind.

Chewing my lip, I keep myself from another crying spell. It's most ludicrous, and what would I say if Raoul walked in on me sobbing, I would prove to be extremely inappropriate, and he would be very discrepant. I flick my gaze to the dressing table, where a bunch of roses lay sprawled across. I smile and walk over, and pick up a note that lays aside the flowers.

_"Christine, Thank you for putting up with my parents- for the most part. _

_I love you, and always will. _

_~Raoul"_

I stick the manila paper in one of my drawers, and gaze at the roses. So lovely. So elegant. But..something itches at the back of my mind, urging me to recall as it struggles to surface.

_Roses! Of course! Maestro used to give me roses!_ I close my eyes, clamping them tight as I visualize his tokens: scarlet red blooms, thick green stems, black, silken ribbons. Those meant more than a job well done.

_Love._

It also meant..love.

_Oh, God- **Why?** Why must I be tortured? _I gasp and open them once again, teeth clenching. Can't remember..have to block it out. I put my hand to the dresser for support, and settle my racked nerves. I quickly move them to my temples, and slowly walk away, where I sit at the edge of my bed.

How much more am I going to experience in one day?

Sorry it's so short, guys. I haven't had much time to write, and need to get on to Erik's part.

Please review, it would make me the happiest person in the world! 3

****I'm shooting for at least 2 more****


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

This one is Erik's POV, guys. I hope how I had the prologue doesn't confuse you; I'm just switching.

The evening city streets of Paris are alive and bustling with a great cacophony of light and sound. Horses whinny, children shriek, coach drivers ease through the crowds, yelling to part the way. I pull my cloak tighter around my neck to block out the chilling cold. I can hear her name echoing in my mind as it repeats it over and over:

_Christine..Christine.. _

It's a haunting melody, her name. And I'm falling under its spell, which is most unusual. I begin to pass a fence, littered with the work: paint, ad papers, lost animal signs. An individual poster catches my eye.

_"WANTED FOR THE MURDERS OF JOSPEH BUQUET AND UBALDO PIANGI",_

I read closer, at the bottom in small print:

_" The suspect has no real name, but is acknowledged as, 'The Opera Ghost'. Reward: Up to 20,000 francs. If found, turn into police."_

It shows, in the middle of the paper, a poorly, and, if I may say, very crude, drawn image of myself from my chest up, mask included. What? No one wants to witness the foul, abhorrent half of my face? I think, quite cholericly.

Glowering, I turn away from the wanted sign and yank the hood to my cloak up to conceal my face partly. How am I to receive information now without being caught? I just have to risk it. I turn around and face the pumping streets, recoiling as the flurry of activity whizzes past. A group to my far right is huddling together, as if in deep conference. They will have to do. I migrate over, and can hear bits and pieces of the held conversation:

"..Opera Ghost.."

"..in this area.."

"..we could use the reward!"

I raise my eyebrow, and continue listening and walking. "Excuse me?"

The trio turns, irritated with my presence. Teeth bared, glares on, they look falsely fierce. I am not afraid, of course.

"Yes? What do you want?" A man snaps. I look him over: gnarly, dirty, and in need of a good shave. The rest fix their penetrating stares on me. I ask them of the location of the de Changy manor, and, after they each give me a skeptical look, soon give in and reveal all they know. It is enough. I bowed slightly, trying to appear at least slightly courteous, the hood of my cloak falling after I stand straight. Their eyes widen, and they grab for me with little to no hesitation. I draw my face back in a snarl and wrench away, but am caught by a large, thick man.

"Unhand me this instant!"

"I can't do that, sir. You're wanted. By law."

They drag me with them into an alleyway, where they bind me. Does every citizen of France carry around ropes?

I am crestfallen that they have caught the Phantom of the Opera; never one to be in this situation!

"We have to take him to the police for our reward." the first man concludes.

"No, Blare, the station is closing soon, and it's far away. Let's just keep him over night at camp."

I sigh sharply, which is rewarded with the tightening of my ropes. It digs and bites into my skin, threatening to chew it all off. "Alright, then it's settled." The other says.

The third stays silent while the other two discuss further matters. "What if he tries to get away?" Blare asks. "Don't worry, the ropes are bound enough."

_..Or so they think._

It is night. The creatures are out- Crickets chirp; Raccoons hiss; Cicadas begin to buzz. I sit, hands behind my back, against a tree. A small fire crackles a few yards off, where my three captors are huddling around it. And I'm left with nothing but my cloak. I hold back a shiver, and hunch lower, eyes shut tight. Their fire eventually is put out, and they all go to bed. That's when I begin. The ignoramus who tied the ropes around me earlier forgot to doubly bind.

I work my gloved fingers around the sharp, rough, material, and break the coarse cords free from my despairing wrists.

I sigh in relief and collect myself, stand, and make my way across the grass and leaf strewn ground, the soft stems and cracking material shattering beneath my boots.

I try to make as little noise as I can, thankful for the loud snoring of the other men. When out of the area, I bolt through the trees, trying to find the main road again. From what I was told, she isn't far now.

Victory will soon be at hand.

I slow to a traipse as I near the road. Since it is dark, there are no carriages or humans besides myself. I place my face to the moon. I make a vow, growling,

"I will find you, Christine. And you _will _be mine."

Sorry this one is short; I was running out of ideas. What do you think about Erik being captured again? I could work with that *mischievous smile*Please tell me what you think should happen next; I don't want him finding Christine too soon!


	4. Chapter  3

Chapter Three

Christine's POV..

Hope you guys like this one. Not much going on, but once she gets captured soon it'll start up

.

I find needlework to be a very boring pastime.

Frankly, I'd rather be singing.

I sit by the fire the next day, working under Raoul's orders. I regret asking him what I could do to pass the slow, ticking time. I sigh softly and bring the needle in and out of the creamy linen, constructing something resembling a floral scene.

Will Raoul approve?

I work on the soft pink blossom, assembling the pattern very impassively. My face a blank mask, I continue, blocking out all other noises. Which is most likely why I don't hear him until he's a few mere inches away. "Christine?"

I look up, placing my needlework in my lap, "Bonjour, Raoul." I reply, with cheer.

"How's it coming along?" Raoul prompts.

I look down, and lift the pillowcase, "This is all I have so far.." I trail off as he stares at the single flower in the center, "Forgive my slow pace."

"No,no. It's just your first..you'll get faster. And better over time." Raoul smiles, and I feel guilty.

I nod, look down. He's gone by the time I lift my needle to the fabric and begin on a new one after threading the needle once again. I glance around. There's no one in the parlor except for myself. I slowly rise from the plush seat and take flight, moving swiftly and silently across. All those years of ballet have paid off, it seems. My strong legs are able to move as quietly.

I wince as my tight shoes pinch my toes. Why must I wear these shoes? These are fit for someone else, certainly not me. I'm more accustom to soft, painless ballet slippers or durable boots. I slide them from my feet and stuff them under the settee, and walk away.

I've been in this house for about a year now, and still haven't explored every inch, and probably never will. This house- if you can even address it with such a simple name- is the largest one I've ever been in. And, if you ask me, perhaps a bit _too_ large..

I sneak around, slinking up stairs on feet as noiseless as a door mouse. I patter up the grand staircase, venturing further.

I go through all the doors, rooms, and secret places I think of. As soon as I exit one -particularly drab and dull-room, I take to the basement.

Perhaps I will find something engrossing hidden under the layers of floor..?

I move at a slow pace down the seemingly endless stairs, my feet creaking over the ancient boards. I lift a candle, one I retrieved moments ago from the kitchen, to shoulder level, and light it with a considerably small match.

As I end my stairway descent, I find the candle is running low on wax. The wick is just a stub, and the flame flickers and dances in the gloom. I kep my face lowered, exaiming various items: a book here, a doll there, and a few empty barrels that lay scattered across the dus-ridden floor. Something shiny catches my eye.

I raise my head, only to be met by an enormous spider spinning a web. It lands on my stomach. I am shocked, _not_ _scared like a ninny_, to find it lying there, and my actions are provoked by the small arachnid. I stumble sideways and my head bumps into something hard. A few books fall, and the air produced by their downward movement blows my candle out in a haze of smoke and silence. I give out a sharp cry as something falls atop my skull.

The last thing I hear before falling to the floor and the world going black, is the Angel of Music, calling my name.

**Ooh! What could that mean? I hope you all are as excited as I am! Please review. It would mean a lot. **

**Ghostly Melody~**


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